Embracing the Shadows (22 page)

I was on the cot when Viggo slid the door
slot open to check on me. I had a nice little surprise for him. On
the floor in the center of the room, I had the surviving rats
gathered. I'd told each of them to move to a certain spot and stay
there. When Viggo looked in, he saw 'IM OK' spelled out with
wiggling vermin. Sorry, the apostrophe was dinner.

APPEARANCES

Viggo stepped in and looked at my side of the
iron door, which I'd put a huge dent into at some point. He turned
to me and said, "We should talk."

"Yeah, uh . . ." I stopped for a second,
realizing that my voice sounded lower and scratchy. "I'm not sure
when I did that. I kinda lost it a few times. Don't worry, I'll pay
for it."

"A door is not my concern," he replied as he
walked over to me. "As the rats suggest, you are mentally sound,
yes?"

"It sure as hell feels like it. There was
once or twice I had a tough time with reality, but I'm good."

"From casual observation, I tend to
disagree." Before I could argue with Viggo's opinion, he said,
"Have you taken a good look at your hands, Leo?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I have." I held
my hands up. They looked like desert stone; splotchy beige skin,
rough and dense. They had sharper angles, minor pits and
imperfections, and hairline cracks. They were larger, too, but
still as flexible as they used to be. "Accepting these was one of
those tough times I was talking about. The new look of my junk was
the other tough time, but I'm not gonna go there."

"Ah, good," Viggo said, obviously relieved.
"I assumed that your mind forced you to ignore your new appearance.
It has happened to others in the past, and their denial bloomed
into greater neuroses. I would say that you have adjusted quite
well, although you have not yet looked upon your own face.
Confidentially, I find your visage much less disconcerting than
your brother Aldo's."

Coming from the hemo with a face like Death
Valley, that didn't mean much. Still, I took it for how it was
intended: a left-handed compliment. And . . . crap, Aldo the
asshole was my brother now.

"To be truthful," Viggo said, patting my
shoulder, "I have been quite concerned for the last five nights.
You were very vocal at certain times, and worryingly quiet at
others. I am happy to find you in such good condition, Leo."

"Five nights, are you shitting me? I would've
guessed half that!"

He replied with a shrug. "The infliction has
been known to take up to eight nights to run its course. But let us
not linger on it; you are intact, and we can venture forward. Now,
of course, more immediate matters shall be seen to, but there are
also many other topics to discuss."

"Alright . . . Other than coming to terms
with this whole numen thing, getting used to the new me, and
hopefully not drinking rats by the bushel for the next thousand
years, what else is there?"

Viggo stepped back as he said, "There is the
issue of setting your financial base, if you allow me to assist in
that regard. There are also subjects such as stalking prey, and if
you choose to be formally introduced into our society. For now,
though," he took another step toward the door, "let us leave this
chamber of pain and see to more pressing concerns."

"Whoa, wait - what was that thing about a
financial base?"

"I will say this for now," Viggo said with a
frown. "ShadoWorks employees must be available for daytime tasks,
as you well know. Unfortunately, you are now excluded from that.
You were a fine worker."

"What, I'm fired?"

"Leo, you no longer meet the criteria," he
answered with a shrug. "Consider it an opportunity for greater
prospects. As I have done with my other scions, you will be offered
a type of inheritance. From what I gave to Aldo, he has built a
small but powerful European corporation. However, if you would
rather turn to a criminal enterprise - which I will condemn - or
perhaps find a third shift 'work-from-home' position, that is your
choice . . ."

"Uh, no, no, your offer is very generous. I
just didn't know what you meant."

"As I said, we will discuss it later. Come
with me," Viggo said as he turned toward the door. I was led in a
different direction through a short zigzag of tunnels, up a flight
of stairs, and into a dusty section of a steam tunnel. Not far from
the door we came through was an old, forgotten city worker's break
room. A kitchenette, card table with folding chairs, and narrow
bathroom door made for a cramped little room. Viggo opened that
narrow door and stepped out of the way.

I stepped into the tiny bathroom and
hesitated when I reached for the overhead light's pull chain. I was
afraid of what waited for me in the dirty mirror over the sink. I'd
made peace with my new hands, but hoped in vain after the
infliction was over that my face was the same, scars and all. I
mean, Clara, Skin and Michael looked pretty damn normal. Why not
me? I'd already felt my face, though, and knew I was out of
luck.

I clicked on the light, faced the mirror, and
did my best not to freak out. I was too stunned to cuss.

To begin with, my shoulders were wider, and
the fun that the infliction had with my spine made my posture
slightly hunched. Through my tattered clothes I could tell that my
chest was a bit broader, but the overall shape of my frame hadn't
been affected much. I leaned in for a closer inspection . . .

My hair, still intact, was coarser and darker
brown. My face had the same stone complexion and rough texture as
my hands. My brows had become thick; one was set lower than the
other, giving me a perpetual scowl. The blue eyes I inherited from
my mom were darker and set back into the sockets. My facial creases
were deeper, more pronounced. The scars on my cheek, jaw and neck
had turned into roughly chiseled grooves. My ears hadn't changed
shape, but they had hairline cracks like the rest of my face. I
looked like an angry sculpture, carved by a demented artist.

I came out of the bathroom pissed off, and a
little hysterical. I bellowed at my calm sire, "What the hell did
you do to me! I look like the statue of a fucking monster!"

Taking my outburst in stride, Viggo said,
"Some general traits of my line are passed along with my potent
blood. I daresay you should have expected it. As deformities go,
yours could have been much worse. Would you rather look like Roach
or Mr. Merritt?"

"I'd rather look fucking normal, like Clara
does. This whole crusty skin thing sure as hell didn't get passed
along to her! How the hell did that happen?"

"Hmm, the smooth chocolate skin, the large
doe eyes. Did you think that is Clara's true appearance?" He shook
his head. "She keeps her Deviant form constantly hidden. The façade
rarely slips, even while she slumbers. That concealed aspect
whispers to her, offering random insights. Clara has given it the
name of her long-lost twin: Vivian. Your sister carries the traits
of my line, but she hides them."

My sister . . . Something about that concept
appealed to me. Just for a minute, I forgot about my own new,
horrific looks and thought about what Clara went through every damn
night of her Deviant life. I still had room to bitch about my own
situation, but I didn't feel the need to dwell on it as much.

LEARNING

The next number of nights was sort of
chaotic, but I learned a lot of shit. Mostly, I got an idea of what
it meant to be a hemo. I also learned about myself, and all of the
simple habits I had to break. At times, I felt like I was in field
training, but that's where the comparison ended.

I still had the same thoughts and opinions as
before, but the ancient blood coursing through me formed an
underlying . . . current, I guess, that affected my emotions.
Intensity, passion, aggression - maybe it was all of those
together. Viggo called it the 'dark ardor', and warned me about
controlling it. I guess it could be described as having a shorter
temper, and then apply it to every emotion.

Viggo left me alone for the rest of that
first night to let me stare at myself. I guess he figured one night
was enough, because the next night he brought me to a junk yard. I
was put through a few tests to find out if I had potential in a few
hemo Gifts. Viggo was persistent with the pressure of getting my
best efforts, but not like a drill instructor. He was both stern
and encouraging. It helped.

The first thing I learned was that I didn't
have any further ability with the Gift of Fauna. I could give
simple instructions to an animal, but that was it. To be honest, I
didn't expect much else. Viggo didn't seem deterred. Changing
gears, he then told me to study my own moonlit shadow stretching
across a dented car hood. As I watched my silhouette, he whacked me
across the back with a car antenna. I barely felt it. When he did
the same with the bumper of an F150, though . . . that I felt, big
time.

Further back in the big junkyard were rows of
wrecked motorcycles. He chose one at random and told me to pick it
up. When I hesitated, he stepped close and said I could achieve the
feat simply by urging the potency of my blood. Any strength I'd
gained through a physical Gift would only make it easier. Holy
shit, he was right. Not only did I pick up that rice-burner, I also
threw it twenty feet.

Viggo used his Fauna Gift and called some
stray dogs to us. The three mutts that showed up looked pretty damn
pathetic. I thought my sire kinda dropped the ball until he
explained that his call was only for sick or injured dogs. He
wanted me to 'refill my tank' after exerting myself, and I could
mercifully end their suffering in the process. My mind flashed back
to Ragna, a vacant lot, and an injured pooch. I used her example
and gave each mutt a happy thought before I drained them.

While we were out there, I noticed a few
other little things. I didn't need to catch my breath after doing
something strenuous. My muscles didn't ache. I never came close to
sweating, even with the muggy night air. No yawning, no coughing,
no sneezing, no booger build-up in my nose, no need to stretch my
muscles. Mosquitoes couldn't get through my thick skin. Even with
the moon out, I knew I could see better in the dark than I ever
could before. Everything was subtly different.

We left the junkyard and drove to a familiar
midtown area. Viggo made a few calls on the way, and then told me
park behind a specific building. It turned out to be the one where
I'd first met the hot derelict, Audra. The backdoor was already
unlocked, so we went on in. The centuries-old minion named Runa was
inside, setting up camping chairs near the back wall of the large
open room. Those five chairs were set up in a fairly tight circle;
I had no idea what Viggo had in mind.

Runa studied me for a minute, and then
respectfully bowed her head to me. I felt pretty awkward. There I
was, the Veleti's newest minion brought into the night, while she'd
been his servant for longer than I could imagine. I wondered if she
hated me for it, and discreetly asked Viggo about it. He said that
Runa was a dichotomy in that regard; she had no problem spilling
blood, but she would drink no more than necessary to prolong her
life. Runa had no interest in becoming a hemo. I envied her a
little.

Viggo sent her off on some errand to go find
some guy named Mr. Lucida. The way he phrased the task made it
sound like a bitch of a mission. When Runa left, Viggo told me that
his guests would soon be arriving. He wanted to see if I could keep
myself 'ignored', even while moving around. It sounded like a
pretty big challenge, but I was ready to try.

Gwen showed up first, followed by Traeg. Then
a third person showed up - a tall, thin blonde guy who wore a polo
shirt, khaki pants and loafers. He looked like a lawyer on
vacation. As it turned out, I wasn't far off the mark.

None of them noticed me when they came in.
Viggo introduced the guy to them only as Mr. Staalsen, a minion
visiting from Europe. When they all sat, the discussion was about
me. Viggo had already told them I'd been brought into the night,
but he evidently didn't give any details then. Staalsen just sat
and listened while the other two asked questions. Traeg, reserved
as always, only wanted to know how the infliction went and if I was
okay. Gwen, obviously tense, had more than that on her mind.

"To begin with, what is this infliction?" she
asked. Viggo answered with a short but honest explanation, which
made her even more upset. "Is Leo recovering or something?" was her
next question. Viggo said that I was currently learning about my
new capabilities. Vague and smooth - I called it 'hemo talk'.

And then Gwen's questions came out
rapid-fire. "No offense, but is Leo all hideous now?" "Is he still,
you know . . . Leo?" "We're not in any sort of danger now, right?"
"With him becoming a predator, does it mean he's lost his sexual
urges? I only ask because he never hit on me, so I thought he might
be gay. Does that matter anymore?" "Did Leo ever make a pass at
you, Traeg?"

I'd moved through the shadowy room, closer to
the group while Gwen rattled off her questions. Rather personal
questions, too, which pointed out that she was oblivious of my
presence. I watched my step on the littered floor and got pretty
close. Mr. Staalsen glanced in my general direction once, but only
for a second; his calm expression never changed and he continued to
ignore me. My Gift of Shadows had become stronger. I wished I
could've done my new trick back during a few recon missions.

Viggo knew I was there, so he never lost
sight of me. Having pure black eyes had the advantage of shifting
his gaze without anyone knowing. I stood behind Gwen; he gave me a
barely perceptible nod. I leaned down next to her ear and said,
"I'm not gay."

Staalsen's whole body flinched. Traeg jumped
out of his chair, cussing. Gwen screamed and then turned around to
yell at me. "Dammit, Leo, don't you ever -" Then she saw me, saw my
face. And she screamed again. Not exactly a compliment for my new,
fragile self-image.